Reaver's 3 Step Guide to Surviving, Evading and Quelling a Rebellion
by Knead-Boric
Summary: Reaver has long disappeared from the face of Albion ever since the Battle with the Darkness. Librarians, however, have uncovered a completed manuscript written by himself shortly before his departure. A survival guide, and recounting of the little-documented Sack of Bloodstone, it would seem.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note:** Seeing as how I don't know exactly what theme this guide would fit under, I saw fit to mark this fan-fic under the "Humor" category.

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Reaver's 3 Step Guide to Surviving, Evading, and Quelling a Rebellion by Knead-Boric, Prologue

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 **Prologue**

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 _Reaver's 3 Step Guide to Surviving, Evading, and Quelling a Rebellion, a guide towards surviving, evading, and quelling a rebellion by His Managerial Excellence, Reaver, Esq.._

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 **Disclaimer:** Application and effects may vary depending on context and circumstances. Note that Reaver Industries cannot be held responsible for the following side-effects that this book may induce, which includes but is not limited to: bodily harm to oneself and others, damage to personal property, eyesores, minor cases of insanity and God complexes, hand twitching, intensive squeeing, binge-reading, and Reaver-infatuation. Please read responsibly.

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Dear reader and/or devoted fan of moi, you hold in your hands an account like none other. A guide towards security, life and survival that will surely come in handy in your near or immediate future, being that the Darkness has most surely devastated the lands you once called home by the time you're reading this.

In short, through my experiences as Pirate King of Bloodstone and famed lone survivor of its downfall: I, His Managerial Excellence, Reaver, Esq., shall divulge in this one small edition of an amalgamation of paper the only accessible smidgen of my person's former life and experiences in my hobby and profession of piracy and its end: the Sack of Bloodstone.

To start, shortly after my dull and whinge-inducing trip to the "exotic" country of Samarkland - which you can further read upon in my autobiography "Reaver on Reaver", **if** you can find a surviving copy of course - I happened to return to a sorely disgruntled Bloodstone. Apparently the ravaged denizens were quite unhappy with my abandon of the city whilst Lord Lucien's lackeys assaulted, raped and pillaged their homes and businesses. But what can one do when they're having their life essence drained by a madman in some dark, stalagmite-riddled stone tower in the middle of the sea? How can one possibly speedily return home after such a thing? I needed the vacation, as terrible as it ended up being. Peu importe, I, their mayoral figure, was now there to the rescue and after skillfully disposing of the remainder of Lucien's holdouts, all returned to normal in the city. Albeit, twas a tense new normal, but a normality in Bloodstone it was nonetheless.

Several months passed after my return when I heard news from mainland Albion. My dear old friend, our late Majesty, father to our current – or former – Majesty (the younger one, not Logan of course) 'Mr. the Hero of Bowerstone' was proclaimed king by the people. Quite the achievement I seem to recall, Albion has not had a formal monarchy since the days of the Old Kingdom - barring Lord Lucien, his Bowerstone was but a de facto city-state. And so I, being the dearest friend I was, sent a congratulatory letter to my new king, alongside with a gift: one of my six Dragonstomper .48's (the jammed one of course).

Little did I know, his ascension would bring the downfall of my most little-beloved pirate den. Following the establishment of this monarchy - which has hopefully not collapsed by the time you're reading this – the rabble of Bloodstone started making exorbitant demands. Demands of proper governance, law and order, even a policing body in the city, as was guaranteed to them by virtue of being citizens of the newly-established 'Kingdom of Albion'. Demands that surprised even me, seeing as this was coming from **these** people, these cutthroats of all people. Cutting to the chase, after weeks of indulgence in my dearly missed liqueurs and spirits of which Samarkland was in gross deficit of, I somehow managed to not notice that I had a full-on revolt in hands. Crowds upon crowds of the rebelling townsfolk appeared at my doorstep and no matter how many of their heads I dotted with lead, more would come and take the fallen's. It was a neverending sea of plebeian insurgents, if you will.

But enough of my magnificent prelude. On to the guide! Enjoy.


	2. Step 1: Surviving

Reaver's 3 Step Guide to Surviving, Evading, and Quelling a Rebellion by Knead-Boric, Step 1

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 **Step 1: Surviving**

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The simplest of the guide's steps, surviving a rebellion comes down to the most useful philosophy of fight-or-flight. Of which I initially picked the former, but then had to resort to the latter.

Speaking from experience and coming to my first lesson in this step, it is quasi-impossible, even impossible to defend oneself from a large band of rebels. Especially when said oneself is rendered with no more capable servants to come to his aid and is sorely inebriated.

To quote a particularly loud and vexed would-be revolutionary, _"Kill Reaver, kill the man! Don't let him get away and don't let him get the better of you, people! For tonight, we shall have his head on a spike, and the justice we so longed for will be served!"_. And get away I did, right after my bullet found its way through my window, through his skull and through that of two others. A shameful waste of a bullet that was. But get my comeuppance? I did not fortunately. For my doors were far too sturdy for a mob to break down so easily. Let this be lesson two and let it be known:, robust, defensible fortifications, such as my mansion for example, will increase your chances of survival a thousandfold.

On to lesson three. When one has grown tired of fighting, one must flight. After disposing of innumerable amounts of the ever-infinite insurgent peasantry, I soon realized that a simpler way to survive was to retreat through my Rear Passage – now open to tours for a small fee, alongside the rest of the Bloodstone ruins. (Please consult the Reaver Industries' Office of Tourism for more information.) - Of course in my intoxicated folly I left the secret entrance to it wide open. I had a head-start however, so their storming of the tunnels mattered little. Of course poor old Jeffory, my new butler, was torn limb from limb when they broke in, but alas, his passing did give me enough time to save my precious Dragonstomper .48's. Make that lesson four; anything that is what you people would describe as selfless, altruist and generous conduct is optional in the context of survival. No one's sacrifice is in vain, except that of your own.

So there it goes, the essentials to surviving a rebellion. Fight if you can. Defend your position if you can. Retreat if you can. Sacrifice others when and if you can.


	3. Step 2: Evading

Reaver's 3 Step Guide to Surviving, Evading, and Quelling a Rebellion by Knead-Boric, Step 2

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 **Step 2: Evading**

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Now my fellow reader, you may be telling yourself " _Oh Mr. Reaver, isn't retreating the same as evading?_ ". Well you're right on that one, my dear, and for that I congratulate you. But come now, no time to celebrate this momentous victory of synonyms and definitions.

For you see, despite having passed through the threshold of my Rear Passage leading to Smuggler's Beach, I still had an entire city of smugglers and pirates out for my head. But enough details, on to lesson one:

First lesson and the one of most paramount importance, have an escape vehicle prepared, like a proper ship and crew. I had to learn this one the hard way. Although I had a galley faster than any other, I had quite a lack of oarsmen to row for me, seeing as how most of them were partaking with the rabble. It pained me that I had to make poor Annabeth row for me, but for a bedwarmer she made for quite the swell rower however.

Second lesson: avoid being caught. I had to encounter nearly several dozens of my former compatriots during my daring escape. The townsfolk had set loose a fleet of the men that had once worked for me, and they were hot on my trail. But I, being a marksmen of such a caliber, was able to ward off any pursuers before they were even able to give chase. I made quick work of the men the on decks of their ships, and of the ships themselves when possible. Word of advice, when pitted against a skilled marksmen such as I, avoid having hazards such as oil lanterns in clear view, or near your person in general. As my old friend Captain Dread can attest to, doing so will only ever lead to a fiery demise when used against you. Make that little additional anecdote lesson three.

And finally lesson four: always have a reservation. I cannot tell you how dreadful it was finding a free spot in the quay in which to dock in. These sailors in Westcliff, so uncivilized. Not a single one of them even had the decency of ceding me a place to dock on. Although I'll admit, I was being far too generous by asking. Besides, they should be thankful that only their captain was shot. If it were under any other more lax circumstances I'd have the honor of being the sole proprietor the Westcliff docks then and there.


	4. Step 3: Quelling

Reaver's 3 Step Guide to Surviving, Evading, and Quelling a Rebellion by Knead-Boric, Step 3

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 **Step 3: Quelling**

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So you've survived a rebellion. You've evaded from said rebellion. However one's mind can never truly be free from a rebellion without finishing it. It would've been a shame to allow Bloodstone to fall into the hands of those foolhardy ex-thugs to be frank. As such, I took it upon myself to quell the altruist rioters.

Lesson one: build a sizable army. It didn't take me long to find a number of bloodthirsty mercenaries, in spite of Westcliff's status as a vile mercenary breeding ground no longer being boast-worthy, - thanks to our late Majesty, you see. Also thanks to our late Majesty however, the winners of the Crucible were now out of job opportunities since Lord Lucien's fall. As such, I was able to fill two whole galleys of them (and I can tell you how unpleasant it was filling them all into one ship, but for brevity's sake, I shan't), no longer needing Annabeth to row for me. - A shame it was to see her sink into the ocean, but space was needed to fit in every man I had.

Lesson two: the element of surprise. When trying to stamp out such rebellious subjects, not a single rebel must know how, where or when you're going to strike. So it comes to no surprise that I had to dispose of every pair of wandering curious eyes and snoops in Westcliff and sink every passerby ships on the way back home. As many strategists might agree, you mustn't risk word of your movements reaching the enemy, ever. To add to that, we approached the bay in the dead of night, when the town slept.

Oh how I remember how the defiled, hand-reproduced portraits of my posture lined the walls of the town that night. Surely they got a hold of that photograph that fool Barnum "developorised". I could tell you how insulted I felt when they dared not only to steal and copy my photograph, but also sullied my lovely image. Such audacity couldn't go unpunished.

Lesson three: put an end to it all. With such a quarrel caused by the townsfolk, can anyone truly blame me for the way in which I disciplined my subjects? To skip the details, the mercenaries did the clean-up as they were told to the letter. It was quite satisfactory, the way they cleaved, slashed and blasted their way through the streets. The renegade citizens tried to resist, but it mattered not. They were mere thugs, and the mercenaries I had hired were warriors seasoned and battle-hardened by the Crucible. Soon enough I had quelled the rebellion. But left the whole place in such a sorry state. So much that I had them raze the place to the ground, twice. Couldn't have left it the way it was, certainly not after all that has transpired.

Lesson four: should you require to erase all traces of culpability, cover your tracks by disposing of all used assets. This included the hired soldiers. Obviously I wouldn't have gone through all the trouble of paying each of them individually, far too much effort that would be. Not to mention that all former accountants and coin purse carriers laid dead in the streets. So I cast off my ship, burning the ones at port and leaving all the mercenaries to burn along with the city, picking off any that would try to retreat into the waters or the Wraithmarsh with my trusty pistolet. As far as the mainland was concerned, they were just a band of brigands acting alone. Who, taking advantage of the townspeople outing me, sacked Bloodstone for all it was worth and singed it to a crisp. But alas, the townsfolk would not go easily; and in the defense of their city, not a single one of them, townspeople or invader, escaped the blaze that had set loose in the town - an accident amid the chaos most likely. Leaving moi, Reaver, the only survivor to tell the tale, as I was watching it all from my pleasure boat whilst escaping.

Now you, my readers and the rest of the hopefully still-living citizens of Albion, know the truth behind the Sack of Bloodstone. However there was little care for that cesspool of a pirate den then, and my actions behind its fall will likely come to no surprise or bother now.

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And so, that is how I, Reaver, managed to survive, evade and quell a rebellion. Hopefully this guide has helped.

 **PS:** Should you ever feel the need to write me, note that the postmen are all likely dead and that I probably wouldn't care about what you'd have to say in the first place.


End file.
